


"I Don't Really... "

by FuckBenedict



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Sheriarty - Freeform, jimlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:17:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2035170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuckBenedict/pseuds/FuckBenedict





	"I Don't Really... "

Jim hummed against Sherlock’s neck, curled around his waist as the detective attempted to peruse cases on his blog.

“They’re all dull, I’ve already checked,” Moriarty muttered, lifting his head. “Although, to be fair, not much could possibly be interesting without me behind it”

There was a slight pause.

“Well, except you, I suppose. Though your level of “interesting” does vastly increase when I’m behind you,” the Irishman added thoughtfully, kissing Sherlock’s jaw. The detective peered down at him with a slight sigh, but couldn’t repress the smirk that played its way onto his face.

He set his laptop aside and dipped his head, catching Jim’s lips in his more roughly than he intended; not that the smaller man minded, of course. Moriarty moved to straddle Sherlock’s waist, one hand finding itself predictably tangled in the detective’s hair. Sherlock gave a quiet hiss as the man tugged at his curls, at which Moriarty chuckled and pulled him closer, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. The detective’s hands slid up Jim’s back, one coming to rest on his shoulder blade, the other attempting to work its way under his shirt.

Noting the hitch in Sherlock’s plan, Jim leaned back a moment, pulling his shirt off probably slightly slower than necessary – though the detective didn't complain, instead moving his lips down the man’s neck. His teeth found Jim’s collarbone, and the Irishman inhaled sharply. Sherlock smiled against his skin, mouth moving lower. Moriarty’s hands moved from his hair to his waist, playing with Sherlock’s belt impatiently as the man’s tongue traced lines across his chest. Jim loosened the detective’s belt before the man even noticed, lithe hands setting to work on his trouser buttons.

Abruptly, Sherlock pulled back with a surprised noise, one hand stopping Jim’s. Moriarty blinked in surprise, looking up at the man for an explanation.

Sherlock’s face reddened. “I… I don’t really… “ he stammered, lost for words for perhaps the first time in his life. Jim moved his hand to the detective’s chest, leaning forward to kiss him gently before resting his head on the taller man’s shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, “it’s fine”

Sherlock took a deep breath, wrapping his arms around Jim. “Thank you,” he acknowledged with less difficulty than he had expected. Moriarty was silent, losing track of the amount of time they sat entwined together. He had almost fallen asleep when he glanced at the clock, disentangling himself from Sherlock.

“Tea?”

“Please.”


End file.
